The Polar Opposites of Madness
by winterchild890
Summary: Set after 'The Great Game', rated T for safety.   What happens when Sherlock meets his equal in the crazy department? Yet no one thinks Miss Anna Moore is a genius. "Poor unhinged Anna" is the reaction she receives. Hiatus for the moment :
1. Now We Play

_**Hello my wonderful readers! Sherlock is my latest obsession and I knew I had to write something on it! Fans of my Narnia and Merlin stories, never fear! I will upload more in time, I've just hit a bit of a creative block with them, so in the meantime enjoy this one!**_

_**Please review! I've never written a mystery before and I would love constructive criticism :)**_

_**Enjoy!**_

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_List your fears: _

_1. Small spaces _

_2. Blood _

_3. Heights_

_4. Choking_

_5. Needles_

_6. People standing behind me_

_7. Guns, knives or weapons of any kind_

_8. Complete silence_

_9. Dark alleyways_

Anna paused. She wondered if they meant all, absolutely all of your fears. She continued.

_10. Being backed into a corner_

_11. Fire _

_12. Very loud noises_

_13 .Being alone _

_14. Failure _

_15. Drowning_

Anna looked at the long, embarrassing list and sighed. She highlighted it all and erased. In its place she wrote one single word:

_Everything. _

Was this questionnaire designed to make one feel humiliated, or was it just protocol in such establishments?

Or perhaps these people were targeting her in particular.

Anna shook her head

Paranoia, they said was one of the first signs of madness. And here she was, sitting alone in her apartment, thinking that the evil doctors were out to get her. She couldn't help but hear her younger sister's voice in her head.

_"Anna, you need help. I'm afraid any day now you'll tip over the edge,"_

Anna's nails dug into her palms, something she did when she was stressed, or under pressure. She breathed deeply and flexed her hands as she stood from her chair. Her apartment walls bore the calming colour of sky blue, a colour that Anna associated with her now deceased mother, and memories of home and love. It was sparsely furnished, as too much clutter tended to panic Anna. She went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of sugar free orange juice. Sugar made her heart race, and she tried to avoid this effect. She poured a glass, wiping any spillage as she went and replaced the juice in the exact same place that she got it from. She returned to her seat at her desk and stared once again her computer screen.

_Why do you feel you need help? _

Why indeed? Her sister was convinced she was crazy. Her perfect little sister, married with two golden haired children, who looked down upon and pitied her older sister who surely had the makings of a spinster. All of her boyfriends had admitted she had serious problems. Even her friends were urging her to get help.

Anna typed an answer to the question, sat back and rubbed her temples.

_I don't know my own mind anymore._

* * *

><p>"This is ridiculous," muttered detective consultant Sherlock Holmes that very same day. His roommate and friend looked up from his book and surveyed Sherlock tiredly.<p>

"It will do you good to go without nicotine for-"

"Oh I don't mean you hiding my patches under your mattress,"

"What? How did you-"

"I mean," he stood and began pacing. "We live in London. Why has no one been murdered, or nothing been stolen. Or... or something!"

"You need a hobby," John stood and replaced his book, resigned to the fact that he wasn't going to get any reading done today.

"This is my hobby,"

"Well you need another one,"

"No, I need a case or I may just go mad," Sherlock stopped his pacing and checked his phone for the thousandth time that day.

John laughed softly and mumbled, "You're already mad,"

"I heard that,"

Out of the silence came a beeping that told Sherlock someone had texted him. He picked up his phone and smiled a smile that told John it was either Lestrade or another private client.

"To work then?"

Sherlock looked at John and smiled even wider, if possible.

"No John, now we play,"

* * *

><p>The sky blue walls were splashed with what looked like blood, but Sherlock could see it was actually paint. In places the carpet had been ripped up and in the kitchen the floor was strewn with the contents of the fridge and pantry. On the wall behind the desk, one word was written<em>: WHORE<em>. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room and spun around.

"This happened about two hours ago, I can still smell the wet paint," Sherlock bent down and rubbed some dirt on the white carpet. "Whoever did this was a size eleven men's. He was wearing work boots."

Sherlock walked to the computer and felt it for heat.

"They had an interest in the computer," he mumbled, before sitting down and opening it. The screen lit up and Sherlock saw it was open on a questionnaire from a website entitled .uk. "Victim was on the page and left it open when they left the apartment. Arsonist was curious. They know the victim personally."

Sherlock looked around and noticed there was no sign of forced entry, which convinced him even more that the arson had a personal connection to the victim.

Sherlock stood and sniffed the air. He walked to the bathroom to find the mirror fogged.

"Someone has recently had a shower. The arsonist? No, but it was recent," Sherlock turned to Lestrade who had been silently watching him. "When you got here, was the victim-"

"Anna Moore her name is,"

"Was Miss Moore wet?"

"Yes, I believe so,"

"That explains the shower. Why did she shower?"

"What does that matter? What can you tell me," Lestrade demanded.

"Who let the freak in?" Anderson walked in and scowled at Sherlock who closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"Anderson, please leave. You're killing my brain cells," he said quietly.

"Anderson, get out," Lestrade waved his hand.

"But-"

"Out! Holmes, hurry up. I still need you to talk to Anna,"

Sherlock turned and looked Lestrade dead in the eye.

"Miss Moore left her apartment and soon after she was gone our arson broke in. Well, let himself in with his key. Both windows are still locked from the inside and are intact. The arson had his own key, he knew Miss Moore. After he splashed the paint on the walls and messed the kitchen, he found the computer. He looked at the page Miss Moore was on, but didn't change it, possibly interested in her answers to those questions. He then wrote that on the wall and left the way he came in,"

"But that doesn't tell us who-"

"I suggest you look into Miss Moore's dating history. The word on the wall suggests it was a jealous ex-boyfriend, or possibly an admirer who she scorned," Sherlock pulled off his gloves and checked his phone. The time told him it was 2:36pm.

"Lestrade, I think we're done here," Sherlock headed to the door and turned as he reached it. "Miss Moore is waiting."

Lestrade sighed, shook his head and followed Sherlock, calling his team together as he did. John, who had been silently watching the entire time, noticed something that Sherlock hadn't. A photo under the desk. He picked it up and saw a young brunette woman standing in the embrace with a man much taller than her. He pocketed the photo, meaning to show it to Sherlock later.

* * *

><p>A sharp pain in her palms told Anna that maybe she had dug her nails in too far. She sincerely hoped they weren't bleeding. She opened her hands and saw, thankfully there was no blood, just little half-moon marks dotted on her palm. She flexed her hands and jiggled her knee. Her hair was still wet from her shower and she felt like a slob in the tracksuit pants and sweater, the only thing she'd had time to put on. The door to the sitting room opened at that moment and the Inspector walked in accompanied by a tall man in a black coat. He had curly, dark brown hair that fell in his eyes, eyes that pierced the room and looked as though they missed nothing. Anna immediately felt uncomfortable under his gaze. He was followed by a shorter man with a walking stick and a kinder gaze. He smiled at Anna, who tried to return it, but was sure the smile did not reach her eyes. Lestrade sat down beside Anna, who flinched visibly.<p>

"Anna, this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. They just need to ask you a couple of questions. Is that okay?" Lestrade asked patiently. Anna nodded, her heart pounding. The room was beginning to feel quite small. Lestrade smiled and stood, walking to the door. He stopped by that man who was called Sherlock and muttered something that sounded like, "Be gentle," before he left Anna alone with these two men. John came and sat down beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked kindly. Anna flexed her hands and said nothing. She noticed Sherlock staring at her palms and quickly closed them.

"I don't know," she finally said.

"Why did you shower before you called the police?" John asked curiously.

"Mess makes me uncomfortable and showers calm me down,"

"OCD or paranoia?" Sherlock's voice made Anna jump.

"Excuse me?"

"Sherlock…" John hissed warningly. Sherlock ignored him and sat on the table so he was opposite Anna.

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder or Paranoia? Or is it both?" Sherlock studied Anna closely.

"I believe Paranoia is associated with OCD," John pointed out.

"Then it is both," Sherlock deduced.

"How the hell did you know that, when I don't even know it for sure?" Anna sounded close to tears.

"Your eyes. They dart around the room, almost like you're looking for a way out. The close proximity of people to you makes you nervous, suggesting claustrophobia. May I see your right hand?" Anna hesitated before putting her hand out. Sherlock took it, flipped it over and ran his finger over the marks there. "You have a habit of digging your fingernails into your palm, it comforts you when you are nervous or afraid," he flipped her hand over and ran and finger over her knuckles, which also looked red raw. "Scratched to the bone by your own teeth. You have an obsession with controlling everything around you, even the contents of your body, so you stick-"

"Stop!" Anna shouted snatching her hand from Sherlock's and standing. She was now shaking and her heart was pounding. "How dare you!"

John stood and made to put a comforting hand on her shoulder but she moved out of his grasp, breathing rather heavily.

"And you hate when people touch you," Sherlock finally said quietly.

"And what does any of that have to do with my apartment being trashed?" Anna's hand hovered over the door handle and she was close to leaving unless this man stopped being a pig and started helping her.

"Everything. You hate to be touched, so you have intimacy problems, your paranoia makes you think you're always doing something wrong. You're obsessed with your appearance, so you periodically starve yourself and then binge and throw it all up. A boyfriend would be concerned about this, but as you're so ashamed of it, you keep everyone at arm's length," Sherlock smiled at Anna, who had a suspicion that he was enjoying this. John stepped closer to Anna, holding his hands up as a sign of peace.

"What Sherlock is trying to say is this incident might be connected with a former boyfriend, or flame," he said. Anna shook her head.

"Why would they do this? It's been ages since I dated anyone,"

John pulled the photo from his pocket.

"Who's that?" he said as he handed her the photo. Anna took it and rolled her eyes.

"My stepbrother and he lives in Ireland, if you must know,"

Sherlock rubbed his chin and stared for a moment at Anna.

"Your job as a waitress must garner you affection and admiration from elder male patrons, especially when you work the later shift,"

Anna didn't even bother to ask how she knew this. She just shook her head.

"I only work the graveyard shift once a week and it's usually only policemen on duty who come in,"

"Is there anyone else?" John urged. Anna nodded to Sherlock.

"Ask him. Can't he just tell you? He seems to know everything else,"

"Alas, if it were only that simple," Sherlock stepped closer to Anna. "This person had a key to your apartment."

Anna's head shot up.

"What?"

"Exactly. Who else besides you had a key?"

"Only my sister and… Henry. Henry West," Anna sighed.

"Henry, who is Henry?"

"I was in hospital last year and he was my doctor. We had a fling for a bit, but I broke it off, for reasons you already know. He seemed fine when we broke up, though," Anna explained.

"He obviously wasn't. When did you break up?"

"Four month ago, I think," Anna suddenly went pale and looked as though she was about to faint. John and Sherlock quickly guided her to the couch and sat her down.

"The letter," she whispered. "I'd forgotten about it."

Sherlock glanced at John.

"Letter?" John said in a low voice.

"Two weeks ago, I found a note in my apartment. It wasn't signed or anything,"

"What did it say?"

"Four words: _you belong to me_," Anna said. "I didn't think much of it, it could have just been a prank. But now…"

The door opened and Lestrade came in looking annoyed.

"Sherlock, would you mind speeding it up a little?"

Sherlock stood and made for the door. He stopped and looked at Lestrade in excitement.

"What is it?" Lestrade said.

"It appears we have a stalker in London," he clapped his hands. "I haven't had one of these in ages,"


	2. Odd

_Hello fair readers! Sorry for the wait. I've had lots of homework. Enjoy chapter two :D_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

Anna sat silently in the police sitting room, staring at the place where Sherlock had been standing. How had she not guessed it? The letter, the prickly feeling in the back of her neck for the past few weeks that she was being watched and now her apartment. She knew then that her paranoia was absolutely justified. As she put her head in her hands she felt a presence and looked up. Lestrade was standing there with a returned John Watson. Sherlock lurked behind them looking annoyed.

"Unfortunately, Miss Moore, your apartment is no longer safe," Lestrade said. Anna shook her head desperately. Her apartment was her one protection from the world.

"Where will I go?" she whispered.

"I would say a family's house, but as your pursuer may know all of those places, Dr Watson has kindly offered his and Mr Holmes' place of residence,"

Anna looked at John who nodded.

"It will give us a chance to better understand the case," he said, more to Sherlock than her. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Fine," he snapped and stalked away. John held the door for Anna.

"We'll take you back to get some things on the way home,"

Anna nodded and followed John out of the station, somewhat pensive about her stay at John and Sherlock's home.

* * *

><p>"You can take my room and I'll kip down here on the floor," John said once the three had reached the apartment at Baker Street. The first thing that struck Anna was the clutter, which made her terribly uncomfortable. She looked at John.<p>

"Don't be silly," she said but Sherlock cut her off before she could continue.

"Yes, don't be silly John. You'll be sleeping at your girlfriends most nights,"

John blushed but Anna just smiled.

"What's her name?"

"Sarah," he said.

"That's nice,"

Sherlock cleared his throat elaborately as he threw himself down on the couch. John nodded and with Anna's bags in hand headed upstairs. The room up there, although small, was sparsely furnished and clean. It made Anna feel a little better to see the order in this room, compared with the mess downstairs. John dropped her bag onto the bed and glanced at his watch. He began throwing clothes into a small bag. Anna touched his arm.

"You're not leaving me alone with him, are you?" she whispered, guessing by now that Sherlock must have wonderful hearing.

"He's harmless. He should know how tired you are, and just let you sleep. To be honest, he'll most probably ignore you," John zipped up his bag and smiled reassuringly at Anna. "Oh, and if you want dinner, it's probably best to either order in or ask Mrs Hudson. Don't look in the kitchen, especially the fridge."

"Do I even want to know why?"

"No, I don't think you do," John patted Anna on the shoulder before descending the stairs. She heard a mumbled conversation and then the door slammed and she knew she was now alone in the house with the strangest and most intimidating man she had ever encountered in her life. She made her way downstairs and found Sherlock engrossed in a book.

"Hungry?" or just pretending to be engrossed it appeared. He looked up at her with raised eyebrows.

"No, I'm fine. Thank you," Anna sat on the smaller couch opposite him, her hands clenched in her lap.

"I knew you'd say that, so I took the liberty of ordering Indian from a nice little place down the road who will deliver to me for free," Sherlock smiled. "I got the proprietor out of a tight spot involving Cuban smugglers and a Russian mail-order bride."

Anna stared at Sherlock before shaking her head.

"I'm not hu-"

"Hungry, I know. But you are in shock and it is my knowledge that food usually helps this. And to be perfectly frank with you, I don't want to have to carry a fainting woman to the hospital,"

Anna stared at him in astonished silence. This man had little to no tact whatsoever. Sherlock continued to survey her interestedly.

"Are you nervous?" he suddenly asked.

"Not really,"

"Your poor hands sure do take a beating,"

Anna looked down at her now open hands. The red marks now looked even more irritated and she realized she'd been digging her nails into her palms again.

"I do it sometimes without realizing it, ever since I can remember,"

"Odd habit," Sherlock looked back down at his book. Anna stood and glanced at the clock. The time read 9:34pm. She was usually in bed by 10:00pm if she wasn't working all night, but Anna felt a wave of fatigue wash over her and she knew that, routine or not she would have to succumb to sleep very soon.

"Well, good night," she said to Sherlock who ignored her. She sighed and turned to head upstairs.

"I'll leave something to eat for you," he said as she reached the middle of the staircase.

Anna didn't even bother to respond, knowing it was no good to argue with him. Unbeknownst to her, Sherlock's eyes had followed her until she disappeared into the upstairs room.

* * *

><p>Sherlock watched in interest as Anna tossed and turned in bed, her hands tightly clenched and her body tangled in the sheets. She wasn't conventionally attractive; in fact if Sherlock saw her in the street he wouldn't take a first look, let alone a second. Her brown hair hung limply to her shoulders, her skin was even paler than what was considered normal, and she was small in height and dangerously underweight. There was really nothing overly special about her. Sherlock knew he should probably wake her, but he was frozen in his place, intrigued by what was obviously a crippling nightmare. This also, he thought, could lead to information on her case. Her mouth opened and she began to whisper incoherently. Sherlock leaned forward, to hear her better.<p>

"No, it's wrong,"

Anna turned towards Sherlock and her palms opened. He could now see that they were dripping with blood. Sherlock knew then that he really should wake her up. As he reached out to shake her she whispered something else: a name. Sherlock paused and listened, to see if she repeated herself.

"No, Robert. Stop," her voice got louder and her whimpering a little more frantic. She began to struggle violently, but Sherlock was frozen on the spot, his mind putting pieces together. Anna jolted awake, and looked around frantically, jumping as she realized Sherlock was standing over her, staring.

"What the hell?"

"You were having a nightmare," Sherlock said quickly.

"And did it not occur to you to wake me?" Anna pushed the blankets away from her and turned the lamp on.

"Who's Robert?"

"Excuse me?"

"You were saying the name Robert in your sleep. Who is he?" Sherlock had already guessed the answer but needed Anna to confirm it. Anna's eyes narrowed and she looked down at her hands and gasped.

"Get it off!" she cried. Sherlock jumped in surprise. Anna ran to the adjoining bathroom and found a washcloth. She then began scraping desperately at her hands, making the wounds there so much worse. Sherlock didn't quite know how to react, but he knew that Lestrade and Watson would not be very pleased with him if Anna came out of his home more damaged than she already was. He took the washcloth from her hands and pushed her into a sitting position on the toilet. He then wet the washcloth and kneeled in front of her, taking her hands and wiping the blood from them. Anna's whole body tensed at his touch. Sherlock chuckled.

"I don't see anything here that is remotely funny," Anna grumbled.

"No, neither do I. I was just trying to lighten the mood,"

"You're very odd,"

"I think that's a case of the pot calling the kettle black,"

Anna quietly surveyed Sherlock as he finished wiping the blood from her hand and found bandages in the cabinet. He then began winding the bandages around her wounds.

"Sociopath?" she asked softly.

"Yes, how did you guess?"

"I recognise crazy when I see it. Plus, I think I've studied the symptoms of every mental condition there is, and you fit the description for sociopath,"

"I like to think of it as high functioning sociopath," Sherlock finished bandaging both Anna's hands, stood and leaned lazily on the bench top. Anna looked down at her hands.

"They've never bled before," she murmured.

"It looked like a scary dream,"

"I don't really remember it. Just waking up," Anna suddenly yawned. Sherlock took her firmly by the arm and pulled her up. For a moment they were close, until Anna stepped back in surprise.

"You should go back to sleep," Sherlock said in a low voice. Anna nodded and made her way to bed where she climbed in a pulled the sheets up to her chin.

Sherlock made to leave her alone when her small voice interrupted him.

"What were you trying to ask me before?"

Sherlock paused, his inner detective telling him to get the information, but a new voice in his head just told him to let her sleep.

"Nothing, it can wait till tomorrow," he said and left Anna alone, an odd feeling weighing his stomach down.


	3. Comfort

_**Hi! I actually am not sure if I like this chapter, so feedback would be wonderful.**_

_**Enjoy! :)**_

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><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

The next morning dawned grey and rainy as Anna pulled on plain, comfortable clothes and descended the stairs to find Sherlock lying flat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were dead," Anna said in a monotone. Sherlock didn't seem at all startled. He simply sat up and grinned cheerily at her.

"Did you sleep?"

"No, you?"

"I don't sleep when I have a case,"

Anna sat in the same couch she'd sat in last night, and began rubbing at the bandages on her hands.

"I see. And have you any leads on my case?"

"Only the names you, yourself have given us," Sherlock moved closer to Anna and stilled her fidgeting hands. "Please stop damaging your hands. I don't want Lestrade to blame me for your mangling."

Anna pulled sharply away from Sherlock and said in a low voice, "I thought we'd established that the girl with OCD doesn't like to be touched."

Sherlock sighed and scooted back to his original place on the couch.

"Henry West is a doctor at the London memorial, am I correct?" he asked. Anna nodded.

"And you had a relationship with him that lasted a year, and broke up just four months ago,"

Another nod.

"And Robert is your stepbrother from your homeland of Ireland,"

Anna nodded again before realizing what Sherlock had said.

"How do you-"

"You shouted the name Robert in your sleep last night," Sherlock tried to move closer to Anna, but her whole body stiffened, so he stayed where he was. "Why were you shouting his name?"

"I told you, I don't remember the dream," Anna's voice was shaky and Sherlock saw her hands flexing restlessly.

"You're lying to me, and not very well I might add," Sherlock deliberately masked his natural eagerness for information and put an understanding look in his eyes. "If this is helpful to your case-"

"It's not! I don't know who did this, but it wasn't him. Just drop it!" Anna stood and walked to the kitchen. She poured a glass of water, drained it and sighed. Sherlock stood and followed her into the kitchen. He put his hand out to touch her but she flinched violently. The glass crashed to the ground.

"Didn't you listen? Don't touch me!" Anna squealed and darted out of Sherlock's grip. Sherlock turned to follow her, but she proved faster than he thought and a moment later he heard the door slam. Sherlock swore under his breath, grabbed his coat and threw himself down the stairs after her. He ran out of the front door, just in time to see her speed off in a taxi. Sherlock growled loudly and pulled out his phone, texting Watson as he rushed down the street, his head bent against the cold.

* * *

><p>Anna unlocked the door to her old apartment and poked her head around the door. As she expected, the police had cleaned up the crime scene, picking the food from the floor and returning the furniture to its places. They hadn't repaired the red stained walls or the carpet and <em>whore<em> was still written in red paint above her desk. Anna's breath caught in her throat at the site of this, but she ignored it and instead went to her bedroom. It surprisingly had remained untouched. Anna ran her hand over the neat white covers, before sitting down. The comforting creak of the springs greeted her, almost like they were whispering a welcome to her. Anna lay down on her small bed, closed her eyes and allowed the thoughts that she had been blocking cloud her mind.

"_I do care about you. You know that don't you?" he stroked her hair, as he knew this was one of the things she loved._

"_Of course," she whispered, melting into his embrace. His hand trailed up and down her back, almost like a lion circling its territory. "Someone could catch us, you'd better get home."_

_Henry stood and pulled his pants and coat on. Anna sat up and smiled at her doctor. He was tall and muscled, with golden hair and eyes to match. From the moment she'd met him he'd charmed her with his smiles and genuine care for her, something she hadn't found in most of the idiots she'd dated. Usually she had an aversion to being touched, but with him it was different. She didn't know why, but he made her feel a safety she hadn't felt in a long time. He looked at her, smiled and put his hand to her forehead._

"_You're always so cold," Henry mumbled. Anna lay back in the hospital bed, tiredness washing over her. "How do you feel?"_

"_Better," Anna looked lovingly at him, as he pulled the covers over her. She reached out a bandaged hand and grasped his arm. He sat on the edge of her bed and began unwinding the bandages from her hands and wrists. Once the bandages were gone, Henry ran a finger over the lacerations on Anna's knuckles. He then flipped her hands over and inspected the deep scratches on her wrists. Little half-moon marks dotted her palms, but Henry had never asked Anna about these. _

"_Did you eat today?"_

"_Three square meals,"_

"_And?"_

"_They didn't end up in the toilet,"_

_Henry chuckled and began winding fresh bandages around Anna's hands. Anna glanced at the clock on the wall. It told her that they were well into the early hours of the morning._

"_Go home," Anna said gently. "If someone finds you, you'll lose your job. And I don't want to be assigned any other doctor,"_

_Henry nodded and kissed Anna softly on the lips. Anna leaned up and put her arms around his neck. He laughed and gently removed them._

"_Don't do that, or I'll never leave," he said and with one last kiss to her forehead, left her alone in the hospital room. Anna sat still for about ten minutes until she was sure he was gone before getting up and softly padding to the door. She opened it and saw no nurses in the halls. She closed the door softly and walked to her small bathroom, closing the door behind her. She turned the tap on and leaned over the toilet bowl, doing the exact thing she'd told Henry she wouldn't._

Anna lay, staring at the ceiling, allowing the memory of his touch to wash over her. She didn't understand how he could possibly have done this. They break up had been amiable and Anna knew for a fact that he'd found someone else. Anna crawled under the covers, closed her eyes and let herself fall into the sleep that wouldn't come last night.

* * *

><p>"How do you know she'll be here?" John asked Sherlock as they tried the door to Anna's apartment, finding it open. They entered the now clean apartment, Sherlock heading straight for the door which he knew led to Anna's room. He pushed the door open and sure enough, curled into a ball under the covers was Anna. Sherlock turned to John with a smirk who put his hands up in defeat. John then stepped towards Anna as though to wake her, but Sherlock held him back.<p>

"Let her be, she didn't sleep last night," he murmured pulling John out of the room and closing the door softly. As the two sat on the couches in the lounge area, John looked sharply at Sherlock.

"You suddenly care about her sleeping habits?"

"I just know she must be tired,"

John was silent, not quite knowing what to say. Sherlock's brow furrowed.

"What?"

"I don't know if I should be worried or not," John picked an old magazine from the table and began flipping through it.

"You shouldn't. I wanted to talk alone with you anyway,"

"So did I. What could you have possibly done to make Anna run away from you?"

"She got spooked,"

"By?"

"I asked her something and I think I hit a nerve. I then tried to comfort her and she lost it and high tailed away from me,"

"You couldn't have been a little more sens-"

"You weren't there," Sherlock snapped. John looked at him in surprise but decided to stay silent. Sherlock leaned forward and studied John who in turn stared back at him.

"You've started using your cane again," he said.

"Yes, I think I pulled a muscle in my leg after the pool incident,"

"It scared you, didn't it?"

"No, I-"

"And that cane is you defence mechanism. Like Anna mangling herself is her defence mechanism. Fascinating," Sherlock sat back and arched his fingers, staring at them thoughtfully.

"And being a callous prat is your defence mechanism," John said.

"Exactly," Sherlock didn't even bat an eyelid at that little dig at him. "We need to speak to the doctor."

"I don't think it's him,"

"Of course it isn't him,"

"Then why the need to speak to him?"

"I need to find out more about her past, but she won't tell me. He might know something about her," Sherlock became restless as he stood and paced. "She may be a mess but I'm having the hardest time extracting anything from her. She's put walls up around herself,"

"So we talk to the doctor, then what?"

"Correction: you talk to the doctor,"

"Why me?"

"I need to spend more time with her. I think I'm close,"

"Close to what?" but Sherlock just smiled and tapped his nose. John shook his head and sat down. Sherlock turned just as Anna emerged from her room, scratching the back of her head. She froze as she saw the two men.

"Please get out," she said softly.

"No," Sherlock's tone was light. Anna frowned.

"Don't think I'm coming back with you,"

"Yes, I think you are," Sherlock stepped closer to Anna. He could see her shaking quite violently. John stood and stepped between the two, facing Anna.

"Please, Anna. We were instructed to keep you safe. Can you let us do that?" he said, keeping his voice very gentle. Anna paused for a moment, but nodded and allowed John to take her by the arm and lead her from the apartment. Sherlock waited until they'd left before following, trying to ignore the feeling in his stomach that that little spare with Anna had given him.


	4. Her Sickness

Hello! Sorry for the delay but here is a nice long chapter to make up for it :) thanks for all the reviews and please please keep up with them. They give me inspiration to continue!

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><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

The moment they'd reached the Baker Street apartment, Anna had sat down on the couch and curled into a ball, falling asleep in a matter of moments. The clock told Sherlock it was 2pm and that they really should have eaten lunch, but he had a feeling that nothing he could say would make Anna eat. John began his ritual of tidying up the apartment, knowing very well that it would become messy again the next day. Sherlock lay flat on his couch and put his hands in the air, studying them.

"I find her fascinating, John," he muttered. John looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"Why is that?"

"Have you seen her hands?"

"Her hands? Yes, they are in poor condition, as is the rest of her," John's voice was low, hoping to god that he wouldn't wake Anna. She seemed to be in a deep sleep.

"I've found out more about her by just looking at her hands, than I have with looking at some peoples entire bodies,"

"What else have you found out, other than she takes comfort in damaging herself?" John came to sit in the other armchair and waited for Sherlock to answer.

"She's an artist," Sherlock massaged his temples.

"Ahh, and how-"

"The callous on her right middle finger and her nails are stained with lead from the pencil she uses,"

"Anything else?"

"I think she was an addict of some kind, and that her 'coming down' periods caused her to gouge the skin on her wrists. She has scars there,"

"And how is this relevant?"

"I don't know, I just find it fascinating,"

John looked at Sherlock closely, trying to find an emotion in his features. Nothing, as usual.

"You're interested in her," he said.

"Of course I am. This is a case unlike anything I have had in a long time," Sherlock glanced over at Anna, who was snoring softly. Her head rested on her shoulders and her arms were hugged close to her chest, protecting herself. Her hair covered her face, and for once there was no tension in her brow, nor a frown on her face. She looked… peaceful and Sherlock found a smile tugging at his lips at this sight.

"So you're not gay," John was highly confused at what exactly was going on in Sherlock's mind. Then again, that was always the case with Sherlock.

"I don't know why you continue to think that. I prefer not to label my sexuality as it is not important,"

"Just like knowing that the earth revolves around the sun isn't important?"

"I wish you wouldn't,"

"Sorry," John also found his eyes drawn to Anna. She wasn't at all what he would call attractive, but she did have a certain fragility about her that made her look ethereal, almost like a strong gust of wind could blow her away. Sherlock's gaze suddenly turned to John.

"Will you be sleeping on Sarah's couch again tonight?"

"I sleep in her bed now, Sherlock. You should know that,"

"Oh I did. I just wanted to see if you'd admit it," Sherlock smiled. "When are you going to go and talk to the doctor?"

John looked at his watch and jumped up saying, "I'll see you tomorrow morning!" he rushed from the apartment, slamming the door as he went. Sherlock heard Mrs Hudson yell something like, "Stop slamming the darn door!" but he ignored her because at that precise moment, Anna jolted awake. She looked around in confusion and panic before seeing Sherlock and relaxing a tiny bit.

"Where's John?" she asked, tiredness in her voice.

"On an errand then back to his girlfriend's place," Sherlock stood and went to the kitchen where he began to boil the kettle. "I'm making you a cup of tea,"

Anna heard the tone in Sherlocks voice and decided that this wasn't up for argument. She spied a pencil and a scrap of paper on the table so she pulled it off and began sketching. She usually just began with a single thing on the page and then her drawing grew. She felt a presence behind her and whipped around to find Sherlock standing there with a cup of tea. He handed it to her silently and returned to his couch where he stared at her over his mug. Anna took a sip, burnt her tongue and quickly put the tea on the table to let it cool. Her stomach grumbled. Anna's hand flew to it in embarrassment. Sherlock smiled and picked up his phone.

"You're eating something," he said as he dialled a number and before Anna could stop him, he was ordering her a pizza. When he hung up the phone, Anna shook her head at him.

"I'm not-"

"Don't finish that sentence. Your mind might not be hungry; but that charming noise in your stomach just told me that your body certainly is hungry,"

"I don't like that, you know," Anna was so quiet that Sherlock almost didn't hear her.

"Hmm?" he said, not looking at her.

"People standing behind me, it freaks me out,"

"And your trust issues rear their ugly heads once more," Sherlock still did not look at her.

Anna frowned and continued her drawing.

"Why are you not at art school?" Sherlock stood and tugged the drawing from Anna's hands. It was a sketch of a peacock. The thing that mesmerized Sherlock the most was the detail. Detail in any form, was Sherlocks best friend and he couldn't help but allow his mind to study every line and smudge of this drawing. Anna pulled it out of his hands.

"Do you mind?"

"So? Did you ever go to art school?" Sherlock repeated his earlier question.

"No, no I couldn't afford it. I just always did it as a hobby. I was doing a course last year on art teaching. I would have loved to teach primary art, to young kids. But I got sick and that's when I was put in hospital. I couldn't complete the course," Anna's eyes were downcast as she stared at her drawing. Sherlock leaned forward, seeing that Anna was finally opening up and not wanting to miss this opportunity for her to reveal more about her mysterious past.

"Why were you in hospital?"

"A myriad of reasons," Anna smiled and looked up at Sherlock. "You know about my Bulimia. Well, at one point it got so bad that my sister and her husband had me committed to the psychiatric ward of the London memorial."

"And the scars on your forearm?" Sherlock pressed.

Anna smiled again and pulled the sleeves of her sweater up to look at the scars there. They were faded now, but one could tell that they must have been deep at some point.

"What do you think they're from?" Anna's dark eyes were wide with curiosity. She found Sherlock's ability to gage such knowledge from sheer observation brilliant. She hated to admit it, but as the hours ticked on she was becoming more comfortable with this odd man.

"A drug addiction. Coming down from your high caused you to gauge the skin on your arms. Ice perhaps?" Sherlock deduced. However, as he said it, he knew his answer was wrong. Anna shook her head.

"It wasn't drugs. Sadly I was in my sober mind when I did this. In the worst moments, of my depression, I used to scratch my arms. My sister found me passed out on my bathroom floor, blood pouring from my wrists. She thought I'd tried to kill myself. As bad as my mind was back then, it wasn't suicide. The pain just offered an outlet for my emotions,"

"I thought you were scared of blood?"

"I was more scared of my own head. It was better to just unthinkingly do and not have to gauge the consequences," Anna smudged a few lines on her drawing and set it down on the table. Sherlock moved closer to Anna, who for once didn't flinch. He reached out and took her right arm and pushed her sleeve back. He then ran a finger over the scars there. A shiver ran up Anna's spine, but she didn't pull away for once. Sherlock and Anna's eyes met and for a moment, both were completely still, just staring at one another. Anna broke the spell when she realised what was happening and sharply pulled her arm away from Sherlock. Sherlock moved back to the further end of the couch. Anna picked up another piece of paper and began to sketch. Sherlock lay flat on his back once more and stared at the ceiling. A silence ensued, the most awkward silence yet.

* * *

><p>Doctor John Watson stared over the desk at Doctor Henry West. He was tall, looking like he could almost double Anna in size. He smiled over the desk at John and asked how John was.<p>

"Oh, I'm not here for myself. I'm actually here on behalf of the police… well kind of the police," John had no idea how to go about this whole 'interrogation' thing.

"Police? Why on earth would the police be inquiring here?" Henry seemed genuinely shocked, confirming Sherlock's theory that Henry was not the stalker, only a clue in this mystery which was taking longer than expected to unravel.

"I'm assuming you know the name Anna Moore,"

At this, Henry's face filled with fear.

"Anna? Is she okay? Where is she, what is wrong with her?"

"She is fine, a little shaken up, but fine. A couple of days ago, however her apartment was trashed. A weer prior to that, she received a frightening note. We think she is being stalked, but you probably know that it is hard to get Anna to talk. We thought you may be able to shed some light on her situation,"

Henry stood and walked to a set of shelves where he stood for a moment and then turned back to face John.

"Is Anna okay?"

"I assure you, she is being well looked after by my roommate who also happens to be leading this investigation," John smiled at Henry who sighed and sat at his desk once more.

"What do you want to know?"

"Anna and you had a relationship last year, while she was in your care?" John leaned forward and watched Henry's facial expression change to one of… what was it? Shame? But there was something else there. Pain? Longing?

"She was brought to me in April of last year. She was a mess. She weighed almost the equivalent of a 12 year old, her nerves were shot to hell and she was covered in bruises and scratches," Henry sat and arched his fingers, preparing to reveal a part of his life he didn't want to have to deal with.

* * *

><p><em>Anna wasn't even kicking and screaming when they brought her in, as most patients usually were. A tall man with dirty blonde hair and glasses had a firm hold on her arm, while a woman with ice blonde hair talked to the nurse at the desk. Henry stopped on his way to see a patient and stared at the odd scene. The blonde man and woman didn't even acknowledge her existence; they just let her stand there, arms wrapped around her protectively. Henry ran his eyes up and down her, trying to find a diagnosis without talking to her. Her arms were covered in scratches; her hair was pulled clumsily back into a ponytail revealing a gaunt face with huge brown eyes. These eyes were shadowed by dark purple bags. Henry smiled and stepped forward. But as he did a male nurse took hold of Anna's arms and tried to guide her towards her room. At his touch Anna seemed to come alive. She let out a high pitched wail ad began struggling. The male nurse rolled his eyes at another loopy patient and tried to still her struggling. Another nurse brought a needle forward and tried to inject it into her arm. The sight of the needle made Anna's thrashing even more violent. Henry decided he should intervene. <em>

"_Guys!" he said coming to stand in front of them. Anna froze and looked up at him, her eyes flitting over his form, nervously. The nurse behind the desk smiled at the handsome doctor._

"_Doctor West. It just so happens this young woman is your patient," she said. "Anna Moore, meet Doctor Henry West."_

_Later, when Anna had been safely tucked into her bed and her sister, as Henry had found had left her, Henry did what he liked to call a meet and greet with his patients. Anna was completely still in her bed, her eyes were blank as she stared at the ceiling. Henry sat in the chair next to her bed and gently touched her arm. She flinched and her head whipped around to look at him. With those big brown eyes which had Henry so entranced. He looked at her file and then looked back at her._

"_It says here you tried to kill yourself," _

"_Nope," Anna said quickly. "My sister has decided that I tried to kill myself. There's a difference."_

"_Then, why did you have blood pouring from your wrists," _

"_The external pain helped still my internal pain," Anna didn't look at the doctor, instead she stared down at her now bandaged hands and wrists. The doctor stood and walked around until he was at the foot of her bed. Anna looked up at him for the first time. He had kind eyes. Anna felt her body respond to his attractiveness, the way that she always did. He attached her file to the end of her bed and came to sit next to her once more. This time Anna tilted her head to look at him and he looked straight back at her._

* * *

><p>"We continued while she was in hospital. And then she got released, I thought she was better. She moved in with me, we tried to make a go of being a couple, but she was distant and moody. She began losing weight again and I tried to convince her that she needed to be back in hospital. She ran away from me. I haven't seen or heard from her since,"<p>

"She was just down the road from you, an apartment downtown," John stood, trying to make sense of what Henry had told him. There was a sister and a brother in law. Friends and colleagues had visited her. Even her mum from Ireland had visited with her latest boyfriend, whom Anna had refused to acknowledge.

"Is she still thin?" Henry asked hesitantly.

"Very," John stood and moved to the door, more confused than when he came in there. He stopped at the door and turned. "Did Anna ever mention the name Robert? A stepbrother, maybe?"

Henry shook his head, "She didn't have any family, except for her mum and sister and their partners."

John turned to leave again but Henry's voice stopped him.

"Robert, you say? She shouted that name in her sleep quite often. I never thought it was important,"


	5. An Episode

**_Hello! I know I haven't updated for ages and I'm sorry, but once I'm on holidays there'll be plenty of chapters!_**

**_This ones only a shorty, more about exploring Anna and Sherlock's relationship. I promise, the next chapter will be filled with more mystery unraveling and more about Anna/everyone elses past. _**

**_Please review! It gives me inspiration and motivation to write!_**

**_Enjoy very muchly :D_**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

Anna pulled on her pyjama pants and a pair of socks. Her hand found her stomach and she pressed down, trying to ignore the full feeling she had. If there was anything Anna despised, it was feeling full, but she hadn't been able to resist the food Sherlock had laid in front of her. After all, she hadn't eaten properly all week. Anna peeked downstairs and heard Sherlock's shower going. She went into the bathroom and purged all of the food from her stomach. Over and over she heaved until there was nothing left. After, she kneeled down on the cold tiled floor and clutched her middle, the familiar pains that came after, causing her a whole lot of misery. She cried out loudly and then clapped her hand over her mouth and waited. Waited for someone to hear her and catch her doing what they and she knew she shouldn't be doing. She heard thudding up the stairs and tried to stand but the pain in her stomach prevented that from happening. Sherlock appeared at the door and paused.

"What happened?" he asked in a low voice. Anna looked up at him with wide eyes.

"I was full," she whispered. Sherlock to a couple of steps towards her and she didn't flinch so he came closer and kneeled down in front of her. He reached out a hand and felt her head.

"You're freezing," he mumbled and pulled her standing. Her head swam and she clutched onto his shirt to steady herself. Sherlock held her arms tightly, trying to keep her standing.

"I'm so tired," Anna sobbed into the hands she had clenched on Sherlock's shirt and a feeling fluttered in Sherlock's stomach, one he hadn't felt for years. He picked Anna up and took her to John's bed, but paused. She'd be better off downstairs with him. Once down there he laid her on his couch and pulled a blanket over her. She looked up at him, her skin pale and her eyes bleary. He went to walk away, but she clutched onto his arm.

"Don't leave me," she breathed. Sherlock nodded and sat on the floor next to her head keeping hold of her hand. "Are you going to make me go to the hospital?"

"I don't think that would help you, it didn't seem to last time," Sherlock's thumb stroked Anna's hand softly. Anna turned on her side, so her face came even closer to Sherlock's.

"My sister will send me away,"

"She won't-"

"To some rehabilitation centre in the middle of nowhere,"

"Nope,"

"Where they break you down to nothing and then leave you to pick up the pieces of that nothing,"

"You won't go anywhere near one of those places," Sherlock's hand tightened around Anna's. He closed his eyes, to be welcomed with an image of those haunting white walls and the all too calm voices trying to draw out the reasons for his addiction. He wouldn't send Anna to a place like that because he knew that she wouldn't survive. He looked up at her and saw that her eyes had closed and she was breathing evenly and peacefully. She'd fallen into a deep sleep. Sherlock reached up with the hand that wasn't holding Anna's and brushed her hair from her face. His hand was softly stroking her cheek when the door opened and John appeared. John opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock put his finger to his lips and nodded to Anna. John came to sit in the arm chair where he could face Sherlock and surveyed the picture they painted. Sherlock wouldn't look away from Anna; perhaps he was scared she would disappear so he kept his eyes on her face or simply just the hand he was holding.

"Care to explain?" John whispered.

"She had an episode," Sherlock mumbled back. John raised an eyebrow.

"An episode?"

"I believe the technical term for it is a binge/purge episode,"

"Ah,"

"Don't say it,"

"What?"

"I'm not sending her to the hospital, she's terrified of that place," Sherlock's head whipped to Anna as her hand tightened around his and she whimpered, very softly. Sherlock listened for a moment, but Anna's breathing became normal again and she released his hand, only for him to clutch onto hers.

"You've developed feelings for her," John's voice was soft. He wasn't asking a question, he was merely stating a fact. Sherlock didn't nod, nor acknowledge what John said, which told John that it was true. Sherlock stood, and with one last look at Anna, let go of her hand and strode into his room, John hot on his tail. Once there, John sat on Sherlock's bed, but Sherlock remained standing, pacing back and forth.

"What did you find out?" Sherlock turned to John, his emotionless mask firmly in place.

"She was in hospital, had a relationship with her doctor-"

"Get on with it!" Sherlock suddenly yelled. John sighed and racked his brains.

"Her sister is married with two children. There's no interest there, the sister sounds painfully normal. Mary, her name is and her husband is Bill," John explained.

"Of no consequence. I've had them checked,"

"You've what? Then wha-"

"The mother. I need to know about her,"

"Henry told me that when Anna's mother came to visit her in hospital, Anna would barely acknowledge her. Anna's mother, Carolina brought her new, very younger boyfriend as well and apparently Anna went absolutely mental. Had to be sedated and Caroline and her boy toy were kicked out, not to be allowed in again,"

"She is sensitive about her mother's boyfriends. Why?" Sherlock rubbed his temples furiously.

"Any child of a divorce would be sensitive about her mother dating men almost the same age of her,"

"No, no, no. I'm missing something!" Sherlock slammed his fist into the wall. John stood and stepped forward, but in a moment, Sherlock's mask was back on and John sat back down.

"So, what happens now?"

"The stepbrother, Robert. I need to know about him," Sherlock pulled the photo of Anna and her Stepbrother out of his pocket.

"She won't tell us,"

"I know, she refuses to talk about him," Sherlock mumbled and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He dialled a number and quickly listened for an answer. "Anderson? You're not important enough to be answering Lestrade's phone. Where is he? Oh. Well tell him it's me and it's important. Anderson, I swear to god I will break your neck. Thank you."

John stared up at Sherlock, trying to figure out what was on his mind. Nothing, as usual.

"Lestrade, I need a background check done. I don't care about your petty London thieves. This is important. Yes, Caroline Moore, Anna's mother. I need a list of all her past husbands and their contact details. Yes, I will. Thank you," Sherlock flipped his phone shut to find John staring at him.

"Yes, John?"

"What's going on?"

"We wait for Lestrade's report,"

"I've never known you to wait,"

"Very wise. In the meantime, we'll talk to the sister," Sherlock turned to the door, but John put his hand on his shoulder.

"I will. You stay here with Anna. She trusts you and you need to look after her," John smiled at Sherlock's tightened expression. "And draw more information out of her, I suppose."

At this Sherlock relaxed and walked through the door. John saw him go back to his original position, sitting on the floor by Anna's head, holding her hand. John sighed and shook his head at the marvel of a scared young girl, almost a girl of pure nothing being able to soften the hardened heart of Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
